


Memories are Bullets

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Boarding School, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Night Terrors, bad memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Malcolm’s sure his memories will kill him someday or at least that’s how his dreams make him feel.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Vijay Chandasara
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2021





	Memories are Bullets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cozy_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_coffee/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
> 
> **Notes:** Written for cozy_coffee for the prompt Any, any, “Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.” ―Kill the Dead, Richard Kadrey
> 
> Loved this prompt because it works so well for Malcolm in so many situations!

Malcolm walked behind a large tree that seemed to stretch upward forever. The trunk was so big around he couldn’t wrap his arms around it. It was just one of many in the forest. He loved camping with his father so why were his hands sweating in spite of the chill? His knees wobbled as he inched along afraid to go further, unable to go back. Malcolm had nothing to fear, right?

His father’s voice floated on the night breeze. Who was he talking to? Malcolm was alone with Dad at the cabin. Maybe other campers had shown up to chat. That happened sometimes, though his father didn’t like it. He could tell. Dad liked it when it was just him and Malcolm and a good camp fire. If he strained, Malcolm could still smell the burning wood at this distance. 

He almost circled back to see what was behind him, to see who was paying a visit to the cabin but he walked on instead. A new smell edged out the lingering perfume of the campfire smoke. Bright and metallic, it reminded him of the ocean without the undercurrent of fish. No, something else underlay this scent, something dense and vaguely unpleasant. Granted, Malcolm thought fish were pretty unpleasant too. They were slimy and they smelled bad.

As he broke through to a clearing silvered in moonlight, something rested in a heap in the center of the clearing. Malcolm’s heart thundered. He should run. Nothing was right about this. He tried to force himself to turn around but his body refused to obey. It was as if his sneakers were the bewitched red shoes in the Grimm’s fairytale that his Dad read to Ainsley. He had to go where his shoes told him and they had only one path: forward.

Malcolm stumbled into the clearing, walking ever nearer to the heap. His hands shook, feeling wet and sticky. His voice died when he saw her, the girl. He remembered her. The girl in the box! How had he forgotten her? Blood covered her. Malcolm couldn’t look away. He brought his hands up to blot her out of his vision only to see they were coated in red and he held a knife.

What had he done? 

Malcolm woke up from the pain in his throat born of his screaming. He was on the floor, wrapped, nearly trapped, in his bedding. He wouldn’t use the things he used at home to keep him in bed because the kids tormented him about them. He lay on his rug panting when a key turned in his dorm room lock. Malcolm didn’t need to look. It had to be Vijay. A teacher would have knocked first.

Vijay raced across the floor and dropped to his knees with a painful bang. That was his friend all over, always acting on impulse with little regard for the consequences, he thought with only a modicum of self-awareness in that moment. 

“You heard me,” Malcolm moaned, rubbing his sore throat.

“Your mom probably heard all the way back in Manhattan!” Vijay helped Malcolm to sit up, propping him against the bed. “Another bad dream. You’ve been having them a lot.”

Malcolm grimaced. He didn’t want to talk about this, not even with Vijay. “I think it has to do with our drama class.”

No, he knew it did. They were doing a modified _Arsenic and Old Lace_ with uncles instead of aunts and there were trunks on stage. Girl in the Box sort of trunks and it ate at him. “Memories are bullets,” he muttered, feeling like someone had gotten Gil’s service gun and emptied it into him.

“Yeah but some whiz by and only spook you.” Vijay grinned, regaining his feet. “You need to learn to duck and cover when these memories start whizzing by or run in a zig zag or something.” He thrust a hand out and Malcolm let him help him up.

Malcolm sat on the edge of his bed with a woeful wag of his head. “You can’t outrun bullets, Vijay. Ask Gil about that the next time you come home with me.”

“Hey, next time we’ll be old enough to drive ourselves.” Vijay bounced on the bed with him. “You’re going to get your license, right?”

Vijay was trying to distract him and Malcolm appreciated the attempt. “Of course, even though you don’t really need one where I live.”

“Please, you can’t impress a date when you show up with a driver.” Vijay rolled his eyes. “Okay I guess you _can_ but it’s not sexy. You need to come roaring up in a sports car.”

“Have you been talking to Gil behind my back?” Malcolm managed a smile but the Girl in the Box - a girl maybe he helped kill? – still lurked in the shadows. 

“He does have the right car.”

Malcolm shrugged. It wouldn’t matter. Gil would never let him drive the LeMans and no one was teaching them to drive a stick anyhow. 

“You’re still spooked,” Vijay said, rubbing Malcolm’s back.

“Here’s the thing, Vijay, maybe some bullets miss you but others tear you open and leave you in pieces.” He clutched his shaking hand to his chest. “I’m in pieces.”

“Want to talk about the dream?”

Malcolm shook his head.

“Want me to put your pieces together?”

Oh, if only Vijay could. Malcolm wished it was as simple as that. Six years of therapy had failed to do it. His mother, Gil, and Jackie had failed. “I wish you could but that’s not possible.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I bet if I heat you up nicely, those pieces will melt together.” Vijay kissed him hard, their teeth clicking.

Malcolm didn’t think he’d melt but he’d feel good. That was enough, right? “You’re going to have to try harder to melt me,” he said when Vijay let him up for air.

“That can be arranged.”

Vijay pushed Malcolm back against the mattress, his hand going between Malcolm’s legs. Vijay knew well how to heat him up. Malcolm hoped to melt. He deserved better than these memories. Maybe if he made enough good new ones, the bad ones would leave him be. It was a theory he planned to thoroughly test.


End file.
